


The 104th Annual Hunger Games: Part 3

by FandomsOnline



Series: The 104th Annual Hunger Games [3]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6325471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomsOnline/pseuds/FandomsOnline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One life, twenty three deaths.<br/>Mikasa refuses to die.<br/>-<br/>"Winning makes you famous. Losing means certain death."<br/>At the age of fifteen, Mikasa Ackerman is ripped from her small family, reaped to participate and fight to the death in the Capitol’s annual Hunger Games. The circumstances remind her of her past, the very reason that she is aware of the only certainty of anything, especially the Hunger Games: death. She vows she will survive to protect her brother Eren, but is the Capitol’s power too great?<br/>The story of Mikasa’s fight for survival, the people she meets along the way and the chaos of the games.<br/>---<br/>THIS WORK IS CURRENTLY ON AN INDEFINITE HIATUS (EG <1% CHANCE OF IT BEING REVISITED AND FINISHED). PLEASE READ CHAPTER EIGHT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Arena

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve practically re-read the Hunger Games multiple times just writing this… It’s an amazing book, and if you haven’t read it, you should. And if you have, go read it again! But anyway, this is my first fanfiction that I’ve written to upload. I’ve tried to follow both canons as much as possible; obviously there are restrictions because…well, you know, the majority kind of have to die? I don’t own either franchise – all the characters belong to Hajime Isayama (creator of Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin) and the fictional world and elements of the Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins (author of the Hunger Games trilogy). No profit will be made from this fictional work.

Chapter 9

“Winning makes you famous. Losing means certain death.”

No. I came here to return.  
I try to peer into the Cornucopia, the horn shaped supply of weapons and food. Scattered around are other items, things that are less valuable. Do I dare fight against the other twenty-three for a stash of knives that I might not be able to use?  
Yes, I do. I won’t get them anywhere else. Might as well take a chance.  
It’s only now that I take in my surroundings. The ground is quite uneven, grassy and dry. It stretches into forest all sides, not providing us with the advantage of knowing the terrain – pine forests. Jutting out of one part of the forest is a mountain, and there’s one thing I know: there’ll be water. There has to be. I’ve got to go that way. That’s why I have hiking boots.

Thirty seconds remain, and I have to make a plan. Run through the middle. Grab what I can. Get hold of some knives. Run like hell and hope to got I don’t get found. I’ll have to go up the mountain, which will be a tough walk, but who else will? I hope nobody else.  
The boy beside me cracks his knuckles; I see a girl a few podiums across breathe in, trembling.

Fifteen seconds. People are getting ready to sprint. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.  
Ten seconds. You will survive. You refused to die.  
Five seconds. You’re returning.  
Four. You didn’t defend yourself for nothing.  
Three. You didn’t come to win.  
Two. But you’re here, and now you will.  
One.  
I will survive.  
Run.

I’m quicker than I thought, but I don’t match the speed of the girl from Ten. She’s already at the Cornucopia while I’m struggling to pick up anything useful looking. But I need to stop; I need to get those knives. I sling a pack on my back and loop some type of material through the straps. It could fall out any minute, but I’m willing to risk it.  
When I reach my weapons, someone else’s hands are on them. It’s Mina, the girl I trained with. And her hands are on my knife. The other tributes are starting to gather, and it’s clear that I’m going to run out of time if I don’t hurry up.  
“Get off!” I yell aggressively as I punch her square in the face, yanking the blade from her hand. Not before her nails dig into mine, though. It stings, but it could be a hundred times worse. Dazed, she makes a grab for the throwing knives, just one. I grab a few too, and shove them through my belt. She staggers out of the shelter of the Cornucopia, aiming at Sasha, who is clambering up on top with a bow and quiver of arrows. By this time, I’m more or less out of range. She throws, but she’s incompetent. The other tribute shoots back; Mina falls, pinned to the ground by an arrow. I see other tributes fall, stabbed and battered and speared. Blood is everywhere. I run and don’t look back.

That’s why they call it the bloodbath.

The female Career from District One approaches a ginger girl trying to revive a fallen ally. Then she plunges the knife into her back and whips it out. Neither of them had a chance.  
“Annie, come on! Hurry the hell up!” Her partner yells.  
She killed someone, not for survival, but out of cold blood. She killed emotionlessly. She killed like a machine – is that what a career is brought up to be? A ruthless killing machine?  
Through the chaos I come to my senses, fleeing the clearing unscathed (apart from a few scratches on my hands). Now I need to get as far away as possible, and it’s clear I’m going solo. Through the trees, I see the Careers sprinting parallel to me, not far away. I travel further to my right, until the only footsteps I can hear are my own; the only breaths I hear come from my mouth; the only traces of a human being I can find is my beating heart. The canons begin. There are ten in total – who survived? Who killed them?  
I don’t care about Jean, not any more. It’s life or death; one life, twenty three deaths. I push forward, driving myself up the more rocky terrain. Now I’m certain I’m alone, I check out the things I’ve collected.  
One black blanket, which can be used for heat or as a bandage too. A loaf of bread in the grey backpack, a water bottle (empty), some rope and a lighter. My knives include a lightweight thin blade, an angled one, a serrated knife, standard simple throwing knives and a regular fighting knife. I need to find more food quickly, but I also need to push ahead. Water, or food – I need to make a choice now.  
I walk for the whole day, exploring the mountain. It’s not gigantic, compared to others, but to me it’s colossal. There’s little life, but I do find a small cave. I have to crawl through awkward crags and valleys to get to it, but it’s shelter, so it’ll do. No water though, which is just unlucky. However, it’s near a high point, so I can get a good view of the arena, and perhaps an idea of the positions of a few tributes…  
It’s only then that it occurs to me that I could be minutes from my death. I didn’t bother to check whether I was being followed. What a stupid mistake, and a deadly one at that. Why!  
Although, I haven’t seen anyone all day and the careers generally travel in a pack. Instead of settling down in the cave, I continue uphill. I still have a long way to travel. Besides, there wasn’t much point in decking down there anyway.  
It’s only now that I face the reality: any adrenaline still left in my body from the bloodbath has dissipated and the fatigue is coming on strong. Just a little longer, I think. The sun is at the highest point in the sky, and I’m headed that way. Except the hill will likely get steeper – why would the Gamemakers want us at the very top? No, they don’t want us to have the advantage of being able to see the other tributes. From where I was an hour ago, all traces of trees have dwindled until I stand at a lone, lofty pine. Not at the very top of the hill but relatively high.

I try to drag out any knowledge about edible bark, but nothing surfaces. The only thing I can do is hack away at the branches to use as firewood, or maybe a walking stick. I take out the serrated knife and start sawing at an angle – these are the benefits from living and working in District Seven. The problem is I can’t just saw them off. I’ll have to be careful not to show that I’ve been around.  
I manage to take off enough branches for firewood, but I’m sapped of strength. I don’t have the energy to saw any thicker branches off to use as support, and don’t feel like I have enough to saw what I have in half so I can put them in the pack. I contemplate snapping them, but think better of it; it would surely attract unwanted attention.  
The Gamemakers have failed at stopping me from looking out for competition. As I descend the mountain, I spy an area of trees rustling. It’s either wild game or players. I suspect the latter.  
I dig through my pack to find the loaf of bread; my mouth waters at the sight. With the little willpower I have, I tear off a small piece, practically swallowing it whole. It’s only going to get worse from here. At the minute, I’m wandering aimlessly, away from the source of disruption in the trees. Where I stand, the ground is still lacking trees; however, it’s becoming covered in bright green grass. And if it’s green, the grass is healthy with a decent water source.  
The ground is also quite rocky, covered in boulders. I come to the conclusion that this could be the perfect area for a landslide, but it is only the first day and the Gamemakers wouldn’t need to engineer that just yet. Still, it’s something to take note of. Before I know it, navigating the terrain is much more difficult. I’m slipping frequently and fatigue is taking over. There’s a small stream, but it’s far too tiny and shallow to get any water from. I’ll just have to keep moving on.

-

“Mom” never felt right to say. Ever since she took me in, I’d never once called her that. To this day, I still feel guilty thinking that way. She’s Eren’s, not mine. Isn’t it selfish to share someone else’s and claim it as your own? I never wanted to push him away; that was the problem. And I lost my voice, because I had to hang on to him. Eren was all I had, so why upset him and render myself alone again?  
I guess that’s why I’ve found a new burst of humanity in myself. There’s nobody here to hurt, so I can say what I like. I can be myself and do what I want. I have control of myself… Supposedly. If I say something wrong, it only affects me. I’m the one who will lose sponsors.  
What is he doing right now? At home, they’ll have a day off viewing the first day of the Games. Will both members of my family be feverishly watching, or will Eren be throwing a tantrum, declaring what’s right and wrong? I don’t know, and frankly, it’s not important to care.  
Not here; not now.

-

It’s getting into late afternoon and dehydration is setting in. This is torture. My mouth is dry, my head is pounding and I stumble when I attempt to walk. I’ve tried too much in a day. I lay down – what else can I do? Oh, Levi, what happened to keeping us alive? I remember what he said, though – he wouldn’t send us anything unless we needed it. Don’t I need it?  
Cruelty; this is cruelty. The earth is so moist, the grass is so green, yet I cannot drink anything. I’m so tired and parched I must be at risk of my death, but if I sleep or search further I’ll surely be killed. What a dilemma. On top of that, it’s so warm. Sweltering, even. How I wish I was the star tribute – then they’d have cause to keep me alive.  
But I’m not; I’m the girl from Seven who makes threats at the Careers. Foolish in the Capitol’s eyes.  
Where are your stylists now, Mikasa?

I hoist myself up and rest on my elbows. What am I doing? Sitting around, waiting for it to rain? I need to get going again. Trudging through the marshy environment, all I can think is, “If I were a Gamemaker, how would I stop the tributes from shriveling up and dying?”  
That’s when I come across a rockier field which refills me with hope. Is this nearing the river bank? As I move closer, I hear my reward. The gushing; the splashing; the water coming alive, bubbling on the rocks. And I have the strength to run. So I run, uncapping the bottle, not even hesitating.  
I must look insane, filling up the water bottle and splashing it all over me before taking long gulps. Something’s wrong, though. This must be the main water source, so it can’t be poisoned or contaminated. I’d stick around here and follow the river.

If that’s the case, so would anyone else. So instinctively, I pull out the angled knife – equally useful for long range or melee fights – and dash into the undergrowth, more pine forest. The Careers have either been here, or are here. They might be tracking back to the centre, though they could still be around, meaning that I need to conceal myself. The trees are denser now, and a lot larger – probably Capitol hybrids. They do that, I heard. They change things to suit them, so that they’re perfect.  
But this time, it’s perfect for me as well. The roots are gigantic and twist the land with them, meaning that there are plenty of nooks and crannies behind bushes and under leaves if you look hard enough. I come across almost a dugout, hidden by plenty of shrubs and roots. Here is where I will make my den for the night. I just need to remember how to get here, because I plan on drinking up all the water and refilling again – perhaps I’ll hunt too.  
I don’t take too long getting the water, and I take everything with me, of course. At this point, I can as I don’t have too much. There’s not anything on the way back to my shelter, though, other than a small patch of edible roots further upstream. I’m lucky, and it’ll do. I’ll conserve it all though, so only nibble on one. The root is incredibly bitter and I feel like spitting it out, but I stomach it. At least I can’t feel guilty about where the food came from. Although, it wasn’t worth it, because the roots don’t fill my stomach at all.  
I don’t struggle to find my way back, but when I come to my den I find it less concealed than I thought it was. In an effort to hide it again, I cover the entrance with the largest branches and rocks I can carry. It may not be very inconspicuous up close, but the eyes of a disoriented tribute are easier to deceive.  
I settle down for the night, wrapping all my clothes as tight as possible for warmth, though that doesn’t make much of a difference. I clench my knife, ready for any predators that come my way. That’s when the Capitol seal appears in the sky and provides light for all, and the anthem blares out.

It’s only the face and numbers that flash up in the sky. All from Districts 1 – 3 survived. The boy from Four, Marcel is dead. So is the pair from five, Mina being one half of the pair. As are the two from six -the girl and the partner she tried to revive.  
Jean is not dead. Is that a relief? I’m unsure. Marco also survived, but not his partner. I’m counting on my fingers: that’s five in all so far. Nine’s boy is dead (he looks very similar to Marco), but both from ten have managed to survive. The last two districts are unlucky; both tributes were killed from each.  
Eleven in total died. That means thirteen of us are left.  
I take a gamble and decide to go to sleep; I need it. I aim to rise before dawn. Pulling the small blanket over me, I make a plan: stay hidden. If I don’t run into anyone, I can’t get hurt. I can concentrate on gathering food, without causing any drama. I’ll only have to worry about the Gamemakers.


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the second day in the arena, things start to heat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter from what I have written currently. That means that I'm going to have to spend a kot more time planning, drafting, editing etc. Don't expect frequent updates, please. I'm also in the process of writing another fic.

Chapter 10

I wake to my stomach rumbling once again. Of course, no packages arrived in the night and none will today, unless I’m near death. Hopefully, that won’t be the case. I take a moment to ponder about the approaching day; what do I aim to do? Find a source of food, obviously. Should I cover ground? Make an ally? I need to get going, because it’s obvious there’s nothing to eat here.  
I look at the sun in the sky; back home it was the only way of knowing the time when you were out at work. I’ve slept too much, and I still feel exhausted.  
Destroying my hideout to cover up any evidence that I was here, I pull up my rucksack and pack everything inside it. One piece from the loaf, I think. You never know how long it’ll have to last. Now, where to go? I can’t exactly try to spear fish with a knife, so the river’s a no go in that respect. Though, I do need to refill my bottle. I can go from there.  
Guzzling the last drops of water, I place my bottle in the river until it’s full. Then, with a hand on my knife, I take a good look at my surroundings. Nobody’s here, so I need to leave. Maybe the disturbance in the leaves the other way was actually game? It’s my best shot.  
As I trek through the forest, I notice ambiguous prints on the floor. Could they be a tribute’s? How long ago were they made? I follow them, actually getting excited for once. Yes, excited, even though I could wind up dead at any point.  
If it’s a wild animal, I have food for definite. If it’s another tribute, what do I do? Kill upon contact? Try to make an alliance? Steal?  
Two of those options could get me killed. Is it worth it? Well, I don’t even know if it’s a person yet. I continue, confident and terrified through the thick pine forest, treading cautiously and lightly. There are patches and herbs here and there, and I notice birds in the trees above. They can wait.  
-  
I feel around an hour away from the river when I get a glimpse of skin through the trees; no bag but a sliver sword on them. This is it, I can’t run away now. I’m going to have to do it. I’m absolutely terrified of doing this again.  
And she looks terrified when she sees me, her eyes widening with fear. I suppose I must’ve had the same expression.  
I don’t have to kill.   
But I also don’t have a choice, because she readies herself to strike with her sword, though she’s paralyzed with fear. Instinctively, I throw, without aiming properly, since that could be an excuse for why she didn’t die. Honestly, I hope she doesn’t. I don’t want to be branded a killer.  
What am I thinking? I’m in the Hunger Games.  
The blade cuts through her shirt, exposing milky white skin about to be tainted with blood. Metal meets paper thin skin, and the blood starts leaking out, crimson red. I know that when I retrieve the knife, it will pour out by the gallon. I take time to search through her pockets, only finding a packet of unopened crackers. Her chest still rises and falls, but shallowly and at random intervals. Don’t cough, please don’t cough, I think.  
I’m sprayed with blood. Just pull, that’s all I have to do. I tug the knife out of the victim I don’t know the name of. She’ll bleed out now; even I know that you can’t survive a knife to the abdomen. There’s nothing else here to take, and they’ll want me to clear out now. So why can’t bring myself to?  
“I’m…sorry,” I choke. I don’t even know who I killed. Would she have killed me if I didn’t kill her, or would she have tried to ally with me? The cannon fires, signalling her death. I hope they’re happy. I’m not.  
Is this the Games? Is this entertainment? I, for one, disagree. Watching children murder and perish and be driven insane? How could anyone possibly enjoy that?  
I begin to think tactically: now that I’ve killed today, I should be in the clear. That’s enough drama for today, isn’t it? I move out of the area, covering more ground. The only thing I can do is keep moving on. Isn’t that what I’ve been doing this whole time?  
I should head back to the river, but I have enough water to wash the blood off my face. Heading further into the forest, I wet the blanket and wipe the blood from my face. Stunned from my first kill, I make another foolish mistake: ignoring the warning signs of a nearing career pack. First there was the smoke – who else would be able to fend off other tributes should they come to hunt them down? Then there were the footprints, unmistakably made by people and not animals. Finally, there was the crunching of leaves underfoot.  
And now I really am running for my life. I doubt that the boys will be able to catch me – if they do, I’ll be overpowered for sure. I know that Annie and Hitch could, though. It depends who’s there. I can only hear two people running, other than myself – have they split up to defend their camp? I hope so, because that means I have a chance.  
I can’t keep running forever. I’ll have to hope they give up, or try and attack. Except I can’t stop and turn around and take two on at once; I also can’t run backwards through a forest. What to do, what to do? I take a split-second glance behind me to check how far away they are – not far, but far enough to throw. Just about.  
Take a chance and you won’t regret it. Well, why not? I don’t have any other choice.  
So I stop; I pause to think before throwing. Bothering to aim would result in loss of time.  
Not bothering results in the loss of one knife. I was right; my lack of skill would be the cause of my death. Then Hitch throws her javelin, and I have just the time to get out of the way of the lightning fast weapon. I might as well throw it the out the way so she’s unarmed.  
Someone out there seems to disagree; of course she has a knife on her. They’re getting closer, too close.   
At least the gash in my arm isn’t on my throwing arm. The pain is excruciating, but I have to pull through, if I want to go home. There’s a chance I can stop myself from bleeding out.  
The strike comes from Hitch, who I jab in the thigh in return. She screams in reaction, dropping her knife. Although, I don’t have time to swipe it, because Annie’s about to attack with a dagger. I’m not going to allow that, wounded or not. I slice at the side of her back as she raises her arm, not attempting to kill but to throw her back. The cut isn’t too deep, but it’s enough to keep her back for a few seconds. Surely they won’t try to follow me now?  
-  
My head is foggy and I’m lost, but at least I’m away from the careers. That’s incredibly lucky, but perhaps they’re just waiting for later. I need compression on my wrist, now. I try to take the blanket out from my bag and tear it, but it takes strength I no longer have. The diagonal slit is bleeding too much and I can’t do anything but hold it. My hand is soon soaked in blood. Maybe I won’t return.  
As I’m moving through the forest, I almost fall, even though the ground is flat. So I lay down. I stare upwards at the trees and I wait for it to all be over, and hope that I bleed out soon enough, so I can finally get out of here. I’m close to dying, I know I am.   
I want to cry out so badly. I want to cry out for my brother back. I want to cry out for my family. I want to cry out, and be transported home, where the air smells of pine trees and you know that you’re safe…  
I’m sorry. I promised.  
You gave me the scarf to come back with it. You gave me the scarf because I’d survived so far. You gave me the scarf…  
The scarf!  
I sit up and desperately pull it from my neck, winding the scarf around my wrist – as tightly as I possibly can – then tie it off. At least now I can backtrack my way to the river without having to worry about blood loss in the meantime.  
It takes me too long to get back on my feet; my head is still cloudy and I feel quite ill. But I manage. I’ve come this far, and I’m not going to give up now. Eren won’t let me either. Today has been too much to handle and I need to make a start on finding somewhere to sleep for the night.

 

When I finally get to the river, the scarf is soaked with blood.


	3. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a bit short? I think it's a bit short. Oops...  
> Also, I've been doing exams and there's more projects to come so don't expect frequent updates.

Chapter  11

 

Stupid; I am stupid. I just put myself closer to death than I’ve ever been before, and it was my fault! I’m not taking any more risks. I’m not going to sleep on the ground; I’m not going to leave myself as prey for the careers yet again. I look up in search of a tree easy enough to climb, only to realise that I’m in the middle of a pine forest.

Which means more walking.

I use the rest of my day hiking on the forest’s uneven, crumbly terrain, over to the area I spent last night in. In that time, I snack on the little food I have: one small piece from the loaf. I didn’t even gain anything from my first kill! Just. Guilt.

What am I saying? If I didn’t want the guilt, I shouldn’t have killed her. I shouldn’t have left it to chance. I shouldn’t have been there.

Although I could forage for berries or roots, that would require energy – something I have very little of at the moment. I’m running on fumes, and I can’t do anything about it. Not if I want to survive.

Well, it’s the _Hunger Games,_ isn’t it? Very funny.

That’s when I realise I’ve had nothing from Levi yet. Or, any puzzles from the Gamemakers. Nothing from the outside world. I bet everyone’s on the edge of their seat, waiting for me to finish the loaf. Who are they filming now? Has anyone even sponsored me? What about Jean?

Is he even alive? It’s not the best idea to dwell on these thoughts.

Nonetheless, it is a good idea to rethink my appearance. I need to appear strong, not vulnerable. I need to appear steely, not emotional. Driven, but poker-faced. Thoughtful; calculating; calm. Not what I am now.

-

A rustling in the tree above makes me jump out of my skin. I pull a knife out of my pocket, taking an attacking stance. A head of bright blonde hair peeks out between the branches, with blue eyes the size of saucers. It’s not the girl from District 3… no, it’s the boy.

“Please,” he begs, his voice wavering. “Mikasa, please, don’t kill me…”

Drawing away from the fact that I could kill him at any time, I ask, “How do you know my name?”

“Really? You’ve been as much of a focus this time round as the careers have been. You must have so many supplies…” he says, his tone sharp as daggers. For a moment, it turns more to admiration, but only for a moment.” You’re really lucky. Just, don’t kill me.” Supplies? Please. Someone’s trying to manipulate me.

“Well, I have a few knives,” I reply, not telling the full truth. “That’s about it.” On the inside, I smirk. Two can play at your game. “I wish I had a first aid kit.” At this, I see his eyebrows twitch. “You… wouldn’t happen to have one, would you?”

“I…Um, I don’t…” He falters. “Maybe.” I smile; he notices. “Only if you’re going to make an alliance.”

“Deal,” I say. An alliance can’t be that bad. He makes me catch the kit: a green drawstring bag which I rifle through immediately. Gauzes, painkillers…a bandage!

I start to unwind my scarf, but the boy stops me. I remember his name – it’s Armin.

“Don’t just wrap the bandage around it. You’ll need to clean it first,” he warns.

I put the bloodied scarf in my backpack, something I’ll wash later, and look for any kind of wipe. When I find the bottle of antiseptic, I hastily apply it. The wound stings, but hardly as much compared to when it was inflicted. I then proceed to wrap the bandage round my wrist.

“Look, can you at least help me up into the tree?” I ask, frustrated. “You don’t want to kill off an ally just yet.” I’m not even going to try and mask my cynicism.

“I’m kind of weak,” he replies.

“Then make a little room. It’ll be easier to climb if I have somewhere to pull myself up to.”

I pull my leg up onto the lowest branch, hauling my body upwards.

“You can’t climb a tree?” he laughs. “But you’re from District Seven!”

“Yeah, and? If you couldn’t tell, I’m lacking in a working wrist. And we don’t spend our days climbing trees, you know – we chop them down. It’s not a carefree nature walk, you know,” I retort.

“How so?” Armin asks.

“Help me up, dammit!”

-

Armin shares with me the bounty of food he has, which makes me feel even worse. I’m only sharing my smallest knife, and I’m not giving him the food I have. I don’t trust people easily, and I don’t see the problem with that. Why should I?

“So, this is the plan for the morning,” he starts. “We scout around and make a kill, and then we’ll have more resources. That can take up most of the day. Whatever we get, we’ll use to make a camp at night. We’ll have to rise-”

I interrupt. “Killing anyone? What’s the point? Only one career is dead, and killing is only going to provoke them. And anyway, neither of us can fight.”

“Yes, actually, we both can,” he hisses back. “Your injured wrist is not your throwing side. If you don’t want to, I will. You don’t expect that you’re going to get away by sitting back and hiding, do you?”

“Well…” I mumble.

“No, you can’t. We can get this over with quicker if we do,” Armin argues.

I don’t have much of a choice. “Fine. But you can do the killing.”

 

-

 

I wake up to the unsettling feeling that I’ve made the wrong choice. From my position in the tree, I can see the morning twilight – an ethereal salmon pink fading into pastel blue, with a faint glow of yellow over the horizon. It makes me think of home, where we’d wake up before school or work just to see the sunrise. Both of us. Together.

My stomach is growling again; thankfully I’ve got a little more to eat. That’s the advantage we have over the better-off districts – well, it’s the advantage I have – that I’m used to having a little less. At least I have something to burn if worst comes to worst, because the kids from eleven and twelve certainly don’t.

‘Kids’.

I’m about to hunt another kid. It’s simple – kill or be killed – and I’ve tried to ignore it until now. It’s better to face it, isn’t it?

More or less silently, I slip out of the tree to check for any parcels. Of course there aren’t any, but it gives me something to do. I draw the knife out of my belt, fidgeting about because of my aching arm from last night’s sleep; the pain is nothing compared to my wrist. In fact, I should probably change the bandage. Oh, and there’s the scarf, too.

My hazy memories of yesterday are only just beginning to recollect into something understandable. Fair enough, my skin was pale as it is, but my appearance is now ghostly and I feel like I’d find myself on the ground at any given moment. The worst part is that if I want any chance of recovery I’m going to have to hunt for some proper food.

I grasp at Armin’s dangling hand, pulling down the blanket we attempted to share. I can’t quite reach my rucksack, which is hung on one of the higher branches for good reason. After a few attempts at stirring him, he finally rises.

“Look, I get you want to be all strategic and that, but we really need to start hunting,” I whisper, cautious of anything that could be lurking in the shadows.

“Fine,” he agrees. “But we can’t spend long. Do you have any rope? We could set some traps.”

“I don’t know,” I answer. “Pass me my bag.”

 I do know. I remember that there was hardly anything in the bag. But, he’s not getting a look in there – not as long as I have control.

I need to remember that Armin is my ally, but he is also an enemy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kinda short but it's longer than "lol sorry school is in the way and I won't be on for a few months" right?

Chapter 12

 

A snap of a twig. A distant rustling. It’s all enough to set me on edge. And it does.

Because right now, I could be minutes away – metres away – from death again. But I always am, aren’t I? _That’s the nature of the Hunger Games_. It’s funny, in some sadistic, twisted way. But it’s better to ignore it.

I try to distract myself, to no avail. My mind keeps flicking back and forth; _is he dead yet, am I dead yet, is he dead yet, am I dead yet._ And I’m not talking about Armin. Frankly, his death would be an obstacle out of the way. These are thoughts you have when the mind is so horribly contorted, when the person is on the brink of snapping. But _that’s the nature of the Hunger Games_ , and the sooner I face this surreal reality, the better.

Maybe it’s all a dream.

 

* * *

 

 

A piercing shriek interrupts my thoughts, washed with pain and anguish. My senses heighten, ears straining for anymore sounds. I can feel my heart racing; I have to get away. He’d done it – now it’s a matter of surviving the aftermath. I need to know which way to run. Instinct kicks in as I swiftly drop down each branch. I can see strands of golden hair on the floor, bloodied and tangled. Armin…

 “Armin!” I scream, forcing all the sound out of my body. “Armin! Armin!” My voice… it’s changed. I sound terrified, in agony. “Armin! Armin…” I waver, daring to step closer to his body. I struggle to breathe; my body is shaking violently. I can feel water on my cheeks; I’m not crying. I don’t cry. I don’t even want to cry.

I don’t even feel sad. I’m just livid, and for once I don’t know why. My heart is racing, yet the only thing I’ve considered Armin as is an obstacle I’ll have to clear at some point. Not a human being; not something to protect. Why am I reacting like this?

Upon further inspection, I discover a difference. A smaller, more delicate body. Longer hair. She could’ve been asleep, if it weren’t for her wide, glossy blue eyes: the kind of blue you’d see looking down into a summer’s day to see your reflection staring back. And I do. I see my ghostly pale face.

She looks pure. She looks innocent. She’s like a snapshot; a photograph. I feel conflicted at the thought. How could somebody do this? Then again, it was going to happen sometime. Krista holds the knife in her abdomen, gazing up at the rustling leaves and flecks of serene blue sky.

She could just be daydreaming.

Her cannon fires and I snap back to reality.

_Her cannon._ It was made for her.

Armin is still alive, somewhere. Relief consumes me, but then I feel the colour drain from my face. Armin killed _Krista_ , and that means the careers could be on their way now, especially with the cannon confirming her death. I glance around. Was there someone in the shadows? I’m sure there was. A tall figure; taller than me, anyway. Or is it just my imagination?

“Krista!” comes another agonized cry. I hear footsteps, lots of footsteps. Whoever was hiding in the shadows is fleeing now; but two other people are nearing my location fast. I whip my head around, just as someone grabs my wrist.

“Armin!” I whisper, lost for words. All he does is drag me away. Once we’re far enough away from the commotion, stumbling clumsily through the undergrowth, he begins to speak again.

“What was that?” he asks, frustrated.

“Not the worst case scenario,” I defend.  “It could’ve been worse…so much worse.”

“Well, it wasn’t fantastic either!” Armin snaps. “You could’ve got us killed. I could’ve been killed!”

“Well done, genius, you’re in the Hunger Games! And anyway, _you_ wouldn’t have been at risk. I’d have been the one that would’ve died. Anyway, you didn’t exactly appear once I started panicking that you were dead.” I pause for a few seconds, thinking the last few minutes over. “Look, I don’t see the point in arguing now that we’re safe.”

“That’s what you _think_ ,” he replies in a familiar tone.

“What do you mean?”

“You do realise they’ll be looking for the killers now, right?” he asks, scrutinizing me. Armin’s voice drops to a whisper. “They’re on our tail, I bet. We need to move fast and we need to leave the smallest trail we can leave.”

“I’m not sure,” I respond, my brow furrowing. “I saw someone else nearby.”

“That’s not enough for us to be safe,” he concludes. “We need to get moving – we’ll check the snares and keep heading in the same direction. How much of the arena have you travelled?”

It takes me a while to think. “I’ve been in the forests near the river, and through these rocky hills too. It’s really not ideal to go there, though. No protection. And I almost died there on the first day.”

“Then we’ll go at night,” he says, craning his neck back to look at the sun. “It’s…what? Midday?”

“Something like that,” I agree. “So that gives us some time to gather food and get a head start.”

 

* * *

 

I take a chance and divide our supplies completely equally with Armin. There was a single rabbit in the trap – what might sound like enough won’t last long between us. We decide the best option was to finish off the bread first, as little as possible when needed. In the meantime, we’d hunt.

That being said, there’s hardly anything left. I look up at the clouds – there’s nothing. No clouds, no sun, no rain. Nothing natural, just a blank, dull blue sky.

Armin notices me staring. “I guess it could be any colour if they wanted. Imagine that, a red sky…”

“I wouldn’t notice much of a difference. Everything else is red.”

“What do you mean?” he asks innocently.

“How long do you think it’ll be?”

“What?”

“Until the next death? And then the next one, and the one after that?”

“Mikasa-”

“And then how long until there’s a victor, and everything’s red with blood?”

As soon as I say it, I regret it. I hope they’re blocking our conversation out, because this could seriously kill my reputation. Well, it could kill me.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short but it doesn't need to be long.

Chapter 13

 

Under the cover of night, we head towards new territory, navigating the forest until the trees disappear. It isn’t a struggle to travel anymore; we’re headed downhill, into a valley. It’s not flat, but there’s no shelter either and anyone here would stick out like a sore thumb. Not to mention the fact that it’ll be harder to escape when traveling uphill.

“Armin, are you sure this is a good idea?” I whisper.

“It’s the best we can do,” he replies. “Besides, you said earlier that the rest of the arena was mountain terrain.”

“Armin, this is a horrible idea,” I persuade, taking a swig from my water bottle. It’s nearly empty, and from here I can’t see any sources of water. “We should turn back now, before it’s too late. And there’s nothing to hunt – how are we going to survive?”

“We have to press on,” he says, giving a nod in the direction we’re walking in. I look up, careful not to fall, to the sky. The moon’s up there, in all its glory, watching us…watching our every move. Watching every death, just like the rest of Panem. But is it really the moon, or just another one of the Gamemakers’ projections? A few moments later, the sky begins to brighten. They’ll start the “death display” as it is so profoundly nicknamed, and that means it’ll be much easier to see. I spy a cluster of trees – not too far away if we sprint.

“Quick!” I whisper, yanking Armin’s arm. Hopefully nobody spots us; and hopefully nobody’s already occupying the space. For now, at least, we’re the only tributes in the vicinity. Hey, that’s as good as it’s going to get, and even this feels too good to be true. It feels like the Hunger Games has completely shattered my sense of logic. About a week ago, I would’ve assumed that if I had a run in with someone in the Hunger Games and survived, I would be safe for a while. Well, that was before I knew what careers are really like, up close and personal. Of course that’s not the case.

We all play this stupid game differently.

 Me? I’m playing to survive; I’m playing to just escape this place alive.

 The careers? Oh, they’re playing to kill.

And the Game is so much more fun when there are no rules to play by – for them, anyway. Them and us; the predators and the prey.

My reflection time is cut short as the Capitol anthem finally blares out and the Panem seal materializes above our heads.  It’s completely clear; no clouds to be seen – of course, that could change immediately as all it takes is a flick of a switch. With the choppy breeze (a pleasant alternative to the blazing hot sun on the open hill and the glistening stars, this could be quite magical. That being said, the grim “reality” is always present, low hanging like an eerie fog at dawn. You know it’s there, and while sometimes it’s painfully obvious, at others you can barely sense it – but you’re still aware.

“I was the only killer today,” Armin comments plainly.

“And?” I ask. I don’t see the problem. All morals were thrown out the window a long time ago.

“It feels… wrong. I can’t shake this feeling that I’ve taken someone’s life. Somebody with a future.” I let him drone on for a while. I can’t correct him; I can’t tell him that the Capitol takes the lives and I can’t tell him that thoughts like that could get him killed. That would get me killed. And although we’re in the Hunger Games we’re not the only people our actions harm.

Tributes that don’t win traditionally? Things happen. Bad things that break them even more than they already are. Why take one miserable life when you can take innocent ones? Why put an end to something painful when you can ruin it even more? There are no limits to the punishments for rebellion.

But is it really a punishment for wrongdoing, when we live in a world without right and wrong?

“Grit your teeth and bear it. This is your life now, so for god’s sake quit whining when there’s nothing you can do about it,” I sigh. I just need him to shut up. “…So, do we keep going, or stay here for the night?”

“We can see all around us because the projection’s light is so bright. Pick a direction, wait for it to die down and run.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back and have time to write kinda. Yay!!!  
> (my longest yea boii ever)

Chapter 14

 

“Shit!” I mutter, feeling the ice-cold water begin to rise up my leg again. It’s nearly enough for me to quickly pull my leg out in shock, but that would cause a splash, and it’d send an invitation to anyone nearby: “We’re over here, come murder us!”

Instead, I have to drag my foot out, slowly and tediously, letting icy fingers grip my leg for as long as possible. Having a frozen leg is better than death, though. Judging by the fact that this is the third time I’ve dipped my leg in the water while walking, this must be a lake. At least that’s one thing to give us hope – when you can’t see a thing, you’re starving to death, and you’re at risk of being killed at any minute, there isn’t much to fill the role.

At least if there’s a lake, there has to be shrubbery nearby. I hope. If we can just find somewhere to hide out – anywhere dense with leaves or wood – we could last the night without any worry. But we’d have to be able to see to find anything.

The arena’s pitch black.

If we sleep, we risk ambush, even if someone’s on watch. Some tributes’ll be active at night and without light there’s no chance in hell I can throw a knife precisely, never mind Armin. I’m still unsure why I’m allied with him. I could’ve easily deserted him or killed him by now, and perhaps I should’ve, but there’s a little bit of humanity left in me tugging at me, compelling me not to. He doesn’t deserve this, but neither do I.

It’s at some point in this thought process that Armin pulls at my arm. Could he have found somewhere to sleep for the night? And how would he do that, Mikasa?

“Can you feel that?” he asks.

Feel what? “Can you be a little more specific?”

“We’re not on mud anymore. We’ve hit solid ground!”

“So what?”

“It means there’s going to be vegetation around somewhere. Like, somewhere to camp out!”

From that point on, I’m adamant Armin’s just trying to be positive.

Then a miracle happens.

We stumble across a small cluster of bushes. And I mean, tiny. It’d fit one person comfortably, but we’re not in a place to be comfortable. I volunteer to watch first, even though I’m reluctant to be alone with my thoughts again. But then again, I’m going to be alone with my thoughts a long time after if I even survive this. I have to lay down next to Armin to have a chance at hiding myself, and I scrunch up into a tight ball, gripping my knife like there’s no tomorrow.

You can’t ask for comfort when everyone around you is sure to die.

I don’t bother swapping watches with Armin, since he’d get us both killed if we were ambushed; instead I let my brain drift into the void. No thoughts. No sleep. Just drifting away from reality.

Morning comes, lacking familiar pink hues. Instead, the sky is a stark grey. It’s bound to rain. At some point in the night, I recall it raining, actually. I didn’t do anything to shelter us. I don’t care. I want to get out of here.

I shake Armin, not wanting to hang around. It’s light now, so we should be able to see where we’re going now.  The view in front of me is bleak. A foggy, damp field. There’s nothing to it but a few trees to the left of the canvas.

I suppose that’s all there really is to it for the Gamemakers. Just a canvas.

But as I turn around to get a better view, I see the lake. There’s a lake! Of course there’s a lake!

“Armin!” I hiss. “Armin, wake up! We need to get moving – the careers are nearby and I don’t know whether I can hold them off!” I lie, adding a desperate tone to which he responds by stirring. “…Okay, there’s no threat.”

“Mikasa, don’t do that again!” Armin replies, obviously annoyed.

“Still, we _do_ need to get going. We can hardly stay here, and we need to set up a more permanent camp. I think this is the right place.”

“Indeed,” he agrees. “There’s a lake, and a little vegetation to use for a fire. Now it’s just time to find somewhere we can actually set up shop.”

The sun hasn’t even risen before we find someone else’s ‘base’, if you can even call it that.  Then again, maybe it’ll just be one of those days when the sun won’t rise. Whoever made the deserted hideout obviously made no effort to camouflage it – it’s a small opening in a rocky outcrop, like a mini headland on the lakeshore, with no attempt to conceal it. There’s not much inside, and we have to squeeze through to even access it. Perhaps it won’t be too bad – the careers are too large, too muscular, too well fed; they’d struggle to get through and we’d have time on our side should we be attacked.

And it’s not like any of them are that small.

Armin killed the smallest one.

No. We killed the smallest one.

I planned it. He did it. _We_ killed her.

“Place your bets, then,” I say. “DeYoung think they’re dead yet?”

“Mikasa, why are you always so negative?” Armin asks. It sparks a memory: we’re on camera 24/7, because this is a TV show. This is reality TV. It’s hardly real, but they’re looking for drama. For character.

Time to play it up.

“I don’t know. I just…it’s easier. It’s easier knowing you’re in a real shitty situation and accepting it than it is look on a bright side that isn’t there.” I pause. “But don’t think I’m gonna give up, Armin. I’m not someone who just gives up or abandons and I’m not going to let myself get killed for the sake of it. Because I’m fighting it.”

“Right…” I can see what I’ve said wrong. The sooner Armin realises… is that even a good thing? “Anyway, should we go and look for them? There’s a sack in the corner, and I don’t see why they’d leave that behind.”

 I try to think up a plan. It’s a selfish plan.

“I’ll go look. I’m better at combat, so I can easily disable them. You have whatever they’ve left behind and I’ll take the backpack – that way, if I get caught out for the night I have something to live on. You sit tight and immediately attack if anyone but me comes inside.”

“What if they want an allian–”

 “We don’t need more allies. Don’t let them in, whatever,” I say sharply.

“How will I know if it’s you?” he queries.

“I’ll throw my pack in first,” I reply. “I’ll be back.”

 

* * *

 

I hike around the lake, looking for ways out of the area. If they were in the meadow, we’d have seen them; that’s a given. It can’t be a career, since they’re too big and hang in a pack. That leaves the girl from District 9, the pair from 10 (who must be allies), Marco and Jean. _Jean!_ Oh god, I hope it’s not Jean. I don’t want his alliance and I don’t want to see him die.

I don’t want to know of Jean’s death.

It’s him or me.

Or it’s both of us.

And more than anyone else, I want him to survive. But I have to do that; I have to be the one to escape. I have to do that for Jean if I won’t do it for myself. Accept and move on – that’s the only way to get through this, whatever _this_ is; this place; this life.

So I do. I go about my daily business. I forage for berries and roots. I look for kindling wood. I search for loose branches we can add to our shelter. But there is nothing. The heavy rain last night must’ve washed everything away – and there’s no dry wood to use. It’s about an hour into this that I notice a suspicious shadow – only one person. Surely it can’t be Jean. Wouldn’t he be paired with Marco? That leaves the girl from District 9.

_That’s the girl from District 9._

She looks like she’s out of luck. There’s a knife in hand, but it looks whittled. Did she make that herself? Was it a sponsor gift? Surely not. Creating one or buying one would be a waste at such an early stage. Her bag’s open at the back and the only thing I can see in it is a roll of plastic. She’s grasping and grabbing at a tree branch: she’s trying to climb it. I want to give her advice on how to hoist herself up, even though it’d focus her attention on me. I’d be killed.

Then I see it in the tree. I realise if I don’t run now, I’m going to die anyway.

There’s a _very_ familiar sight a few branches up. I don’t want to be around when it smashes.

The forest floor blurs underfoot as I hear the crinkling leaves tip off my location. The sound of my feet thudding is like a punch to each ear – I’m not used to hearing it, I don’t want to hear it and I don’t need other’s hearing it. Then there’s another sound.

A crisp crackle. A low drone.

I quickly wriggle the backpack off my shoulders and, in an effort to protect my face, pull out the blanket and loop it around my neck and chin. I’m not moving as quickly, but any movement is good movement. I retrace my steps past the lake and finally stumble across our base. In the corner of my eye, I see the girl jump into the lake without thinking. Then come the tracker jackers.

She’s a goner now.

Remembering to put my backpack in first, I crawl in head first and turn around to face the entrance.

 “Armin, there are tracker jackers,” I say, frustrated. “For god’s sake! Tracker jackers.”

“Okay, okay! Right,” he instructs, “get as much mud as you can. Just keep piling it up until you’ve got a tiny hole to see out of – we can properly camouflage it later.” I poke my hands out the hole, and take some of the mud on the lakeshore backwards to close as much of it as possible. “That’s good enough. Stuff the blanket in so they can’t get in.”

“Armin, there’s hardly any light,” I protest.

“I suppose you’d rather be able to see the tracker jackers attacking your face than you would sit in the dark and wait for them to disperse.”  I stuff the blanket in the hole.

“Will they?”

“If they’ve got nobody to chase.”

“But they have. The girl from District 9, she was trying to climb a tree when she shook the nest down. She jumped into the lake, so they’ll be waiting, won’t they? Like, even though she won’t come back up, they’ll just wait, right?”

“No. We’ll sit tight until…you know…the thing happens. Then we’ll check to see if they’re gone. You should get some rest, though. I do know you didn’t wake me up and swap watches last night. That’s not healthy, Mikasa.”

Somehow, I don’t think it’s because he cares.

Somehow, I think it’s because he needs me to protect him and I’d be in no state if I was tired all the time.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back after a long break!! Woo!!!

Chapter 15

 

It’s not long until there’s an eerie calm on the lake. The wasps disperse as soon as her cannon fires and the hovercraft comes to pull her soaking wet body out of the water. Its machinery – whatever it is – causes ripples on the water to widen to the very edge as she ascends.

Then everything is still again, as if nothing had even been interrupted.

Strange.

“Since that’s out of the way and we’re what? Four days into the Games? Five? I think it’s time we stop trekking around and set up camp here.” I suggest. “How we go about doing that, I don’t know.”

“And you’re trusting that my brains will solve your problems and keep you alive.” Armin says flatly.

“Don’t take that tone with me!” I shoot back.

“Look, I just feel useless. I can’t do hand to hand combat, I have no skill with any weapons. There’s no point in me being here and I should be dead already!”

I… He should. He should be dead but he’s an asset. Well, it’s not like any of us chose to be here.

No. He’s my ally. He’s a person and so am I. And if I want him alive and with me I need to talk him out of this mindset.

“Armin,” I begin. “Skill in combat will only get you so far. It’s only half the battle. Look at the girl who just died. She got this far so she must’ve been able to get this far with some skill in combat, but that lack of knowledge got her killed. You have that knowledge, and let’s not forget-”

“I’d rather forget Krista.”

“Armin-”

“Dwelling on the matter makes for an inefficient alliance and I have nothing else to say.”

There’s a long pause. _I realise I’m only doing this to keep an ally – not because I genuinely care. When did I become this version of me?_

“Really Armin? Because you brought it up in the first place and it seems like you want to get something off your chest.”

“It was a throwaway comment, _okay_?” he says sternly.

“ _Alright_ , I get it,” I say, desperately trying to diffuse the dispute. “Let’s just… make a start on the shelter.”

After a few minutes of planning, we decide to split up, not allowing the other tributes to know were an alliance. Either way it would mean we’d be targeted – Armin’s fragile, defenceless appearance doesn’t make for intimidation. And me, being a high scorer… Annie’s out for blood.

My blood.

We trust that nobody else will discover our hideout and set out into the forest. I set snares again, less for food and more for me to have my own way of navigating back home, and I come to realise why Armin was acting the way he was. Say I get out: Armin’s picked off, I survive a few more days and I end up victor. It’s the mentality of him or me, and I’m the one with a good chance of surviving. So he’s angry that he never had the chance. I need this to stop. I need this to stop. Dear God, if this doesn’t stop he’ll kill me or get me killed and then… And then I’ll never return and this needs to stop.

Make it stop.

The only way I can make this stop is the very thing he fears.

I walk the forest, looking for any resources or anywhere to forage – now that there’s the lake, we can set a fire going and purify it that way. Now there’s a sense of permanence. I haven’t died yet. I’m in it for the long run. For my mother. For Eren. So that Levi and Petra don’t have to watch another set of tributes die because they’re hopeless.

Because we aren’t hopeless.

I could do it all now. Steal all the food. Take his weapons. Destroy the camp. Run off. I could kill Armin now. It’s all a game. It’d ruin my reputation with sponsors, but I could. Even though that’d be wrong I could – so could he. He’s too smart. He’s a threat. If I can, he can.

He wouldn’t get me killed. He’d _kill_ me. I’m a threat to him and he’d take me out. It’s how his brain works.

Perhaps I’m just overthinking this because I have the time to. The careers are my biggest threat, and Armin couldn’t get to me. I won’t let him – I’ll abandon him soon enough. I can’t risk it and he said himself he should already be dead. Yes; he said it himself. That’s enough justification.

Lost in my downward spiral of paranoia, I come to the crest of a small hill. A hill! That means I’m out of the valley… That means I have an easy escape, if I’m hiking through dense forest. What looms on the other side, however, may just endanger that. A settlement of makeshift tents, consisting of branches, tarpaulin, rope to hang the materials from: constructed as the rest of us would – in any way we can with whatever we can use. The tents, four of them, are located around a campfire, with what I assume are traps and supplies littered around the place. Only a certain group of people would need a campsite that big: the careers.

Perfect. For once, I’m grateful they’re here. It means I can shift the blame. It means it can be done and it won’t be my fault.

What am I saying? Why am I planning someone’s death, trying to make it look like it wasn’t my fault? That’s murder. No, I’m not going to make an opportunity to get Armin killed. He hasn’t done that to me.

That’s something I’d do to Annie Leonhart.

line

 

After tediously sawing at branches with a blunt knife (I foolishly gave the serrated one to Armin), I push them through the straps on my rucksack and carry on back to the cave. I don’t feel it at first, but when I return I feel a cool sensation pulsating throughout my back. I got only two rabbits from the snares I set, but that’s better than nothing. I take the wood out, only to find that it is damp – no good for kindling. We’ll have to use this as shelter instead.

It’s at this point that I feel a growing dull ache in my arm. Although I have been tending to it I’ve not changed the bandage very often; I don’t know how long I’ll need these supplies to last. Perhaps it’s time to wash it – I can’t afford an infected wrist now.

The cool lapping against my skin is blissful, to say the least. Armin advises to “take it easy” as he doubts there’s much wrong with it and it’s showing no signs of infection. I refuse. This is the Hunger Games: if you’re not a career, there is no taking it easy.

I sit inside the cave instead, building up what little kindling we have. Ideally, it needs to be dry. I think back to the first day, where the climate matched that of hell itself and there were no trees for shelter. No, there was a tree. I sawed off some branches from a pine tree with my knife because I had looked through my rucksack to see what kind of kit I had. There were my knives, a loaf of bread, the rope we keep reusing for snares, my water bottle, the blanket and a lighter. I immediately unzip the bag – there’s the rabbit we trapped yesterday. Underneath, a bundle of a few branches which are, for the most part, dry. I delve deeper, fiddling around until I have a lighter in my grip. Perfect!

After arranging the wood, I peer out of the tiny cave entrance to find that our camouflage is nearly finished and seems to work for now. Things are looking up.

“Am I alright to start the fire? I found a lighter in the bottom of my bag,” I say.

“Let’s check it first. You never know, it could be broken. I mean, I’m pretty sure lighters are quite rare in the Games,” he replies. “You don’t want to blow us up when we’ve got so far.”

“That’s true, I guess…” I hand him the lighter, examining the crystal clear bottle. “Shit. You were right.”

“What?”

“There’s no fluid. It’s just an empty lighter.”

“Shit,” Armin repeats. He falters. “Okay, uh…plan B. You go and look for flint. Dark grey rocks might be flint, but the only way you’ll be able to find out is if you strike them with a knife.”

“Because it’ll spark, right? That’s fine, but the kindling isn’t going to keep the flame for long.”

He stops to think for a minute. “Back in training, I remember Keith telling us that if there’s damp wood, it’s keeping the rest dry.”

“You remember his name?” I ask.

“I pick up details about people,” he answers. “You…didn’t remember?”

_He picks up details about people._

“In an everyday situation, sure I would,” I force a laugh, because he’s picking up details about me. “But this isn’t exactly an everyday situation, so…”

“Like I need reminding,” Armin cuts in. Alright, I get it! For me, this is something vividly real and it’s like…  it’s like each time I slip back into thinking it’s a fantasy, I need to pinch myself to wake up. I feel like I have to keep reminding _myself_ not to let my guard down. It’s all so easy to forget where I am, and who I am.

And, of course, what I am: A tribute; an ally; a killer. Soon to be a traitor.

 

* * *

 

I spend eons striking little chunks from the lakeshore with my knife. What a waste of time! None of the things they tell you come in handy unless it’s the common sense that you had before. I take my time returning to the base, appreciating and admiring the features of the natural environment. The emerald green moss coating on the pebbles scattered about the fringe of the water; the droplets of dew sitting upon the miraculous sprigs of grass – breaking through the ground against all odds – on an otherwise barren pebble shore; these are things you wouldn’t expect anybody to take notice of in a setting of life and death.

I return to a scene that is an improvement on the one I left behind me: rocks have been arranged in a small circle inside our cave, tinder has been placed and Armin has even found a flat rock to use as a frying pan. We have enough kindling to begin our campfire, which has been built by the book with a small well in the middle, but now we just need a means to light it. We’ve no lighter, no matches nor have we flint. The one thing I remember I knew from childhoods spent in the forest, learning about how fires start. We need dry wood and friction.

I carve a notch into one of the pieces of bark which Armin begins to drill at; once his hands get red, sore and blistered, it’s my turn to do the same. We alternate for a good hour, but it’s not like we have much else to do. Finally, it begins to glow and we eagerly transfer it to the tinder. Soon enough we have a fully-fledged campfire, albeit a small one. However, it’s enough to keep us warm. I place the tin water bottle I filled at the lake at the base of the fire to purify the water, and then curl up in the back of the cave (although there isn’t much room to differentiate between front, back, left and right) as Armin takes first watch until nightfall: until the canons. A very tiny piece of peace, but I am wholly grateful.


	8. Hiatus/Possible End

Yes, this fic is again going on hiatus. To be honest, I don't know that I'll ever finish this but I have more hope for this one than the Divergent one, so there's that. I have a huge outline for this too, which is something. I guess if anyone wanted to - I don't know what the term is, it it adopt the work? Do I orphan it? I don't wanna do that? Is it gifting? - continue it, I  have a load of details and stimulus that you don't have to follow but you could, I suppose?

Sorry that it'll be a long time until we get to the end of this story.

...If I ever decide to actually finish this, that is.

If you want to reach me, you can find me on:

tumblr: ikeacats-ao3

instagram: ikeacats

Thanks for reading, everyone. It's really helped me improve.

Sincerely, Elle


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